Lucky Star

by Allie Everhart

  "You just seem really different. Lauren is always so serious, like she never lets herself have fun. Does she even do anything besides work?"

  "She shops and goes to spin class. That's about it. But she doesn't really have time for anything else with her schedule."

  "I have the same schedule and I have plenty of fun," he says with a laugh. "Em had me on one of those paddle boards last weekend. Never done it before. Water was freaking cold but we had a blast."

  Emma, or Em for short, is his fiancé. She's a personal trainer and she's always getting him to try new activities. I've met her a few times and she's just like him. Full of energy, always smiling.

  "So what were you saying about an accident?" he asks.

  "It happened yesterday on my way to work." I explain the story up until the part where they took Star away in an ambulance.

  "Shit, is she okay?" he asks, and I realize he's the only person I've told so far who's asked about Star. Lauren and my parents only asked if she was suing me. That was their main concern. They didn't care about her health.

  "She's doing better," I say. "She has a concussion and some stitches but it could've been a lot worse."

  "Sounds like she's lucky to be alive."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "How about you? You doing okay?"

  He's the only person who's asked me that too. Lauren didn't even bother. When I told her what happened she scolded me for not being careful, then asked how much damage there was to my car.

  "I'm feeling really guilty about what happened," I say. "Not only did she get hurt, but she lost her job because she missed work. She moved to Boston for that job and now she doesn't have it. Because of me."

  "It was an accident. Feeling guilty won't make it any better. Have you been checking on her?"

  "I've stayed with her since it happened. Haven't even been home since yesterday morning. My dad and Lauren are giving me shit about it but I don't care. I'm not leaving her. She doesn't have any family in town so if I wasn't here she'd be all alone. I'm not leaving her when she's hurt and scared and alone."

  "This is why I never saw you with Lauren," he says with a smile. "If she was the one who'd hit the girl, she wouldn't even be checking on her. She'd probably be suing her for being in the street."

  "She actually suggested I do that. She said I should blame Star for not looking before going into the street, even though she had the walk signal."

  "Cool name," he says.

  "Star?"

  "Yeah. I never met anyone with that name. Is she as cool as her name?"

  "She's awesome." I smile. "She's funny. Has a beautiful smile. Great laugh. And when she's embarrassed, her cheeks turn bright pink. It's adorable. She just has this...I don't know....gentle sweet way about her. Kind of like Emma."

  "If she's like Emma I like her already." He grins. "Sounds like you do too. Is she around your age?"

  "Younger. She's 23."

  He shrugs. "That's not too young."

  "Too young for what?"

  "To date her."

  "Date her? I'm not dating her. Why would you even you suggest that?"

  "Because of the way you talk about her. You never talked about Lauren that way."

  "I'm sure I did a long time ago."

  "You couldn't have. Lauren's not anything like what you just described. You obviously like this girl. When she's better why don't you take her for lunch? Lunch isn't really a date and it'll give you a chance to see if there's anything there."

  I'm not going to tell him this but there's definitely something there. There's attraction, for one, but it's more than that. There's an energy to her. An energy that makes me want to be around her. She's injured and lost her job but she's still hopeful. Still laughing. Still showing off that smile. When I'm with her I feel...present. That's a strange way to describe it but it's the most fitting. Instead of thinking of all the things I need to do or where I need to be, I'm just in the moment when I'm with her. Like my mind shuts off all distractions. That's something I've never been able to do so I'm not sure why I'm able to do it when I'm around Star. Maybe because she's so different than what I'm used to. I'm captivated by her energy. Her spirit. And that bright beautiful smile.

  "Hey, I gotta get going," Leo says. "Tell Star I hope she feels better."

  "I will. See ya," I say as he hurries down the hall.

  Does Leo really think I should ask Star out? He seemed serious when he said it. But I can't do that. It wouldn't be appropriate. But what if I hadn't hit her? If I'd just met her at a bar, would I ask her out?

  I don't even want to answer that question. It'll just get my mind going places it shouldn't. She's a girl I hit with my car. That's it. She can't be anything more.

  Chapter Six

  Star

  "You can go home now," I tell Corbin.

  It's five o'clock and we just finished watching a movie that I didn't really see because I kept falling asleep. They cut back on my pain meds so I'm more awake now but I still feel weak, probably because I haven't eaten much since yesterday morning. The food here is really bad and my appetite isn't back to normal yet. Even if it was, I wouldn't want to eat tonight's dinner, which consists of dry meatloaf, watery mashed potatoes, and cooked carrots that look more gray than orange.

  "I'll leave after you fall asleep."

  "Corbin, this is crazy. You don't even know me. Why are you staying here with me?"

  "Because I want to make sure you're okay." He sets down the magazine he was reading, some kind of men's fitness magazine.

  "You know I'm okay. The doctor said so."

  "You're still recovering. You're not out of the woods yet. Head injuries can be very serious."

  "I'm fine. Really. It's just a concussion. People get those all the time."

  "You're lucky that's all it was." He looks down at the floor. "It could've been a lot worse."

  He's so serious, so regretful. It's like he thought he might've killed me yesterday. I guess it would be pretty traumatic to hit someone with your car.

  Trying to cheer him up, I say, "Maybe it was good that it happened. Maybe it was a sign telling me not to take that job."

  He looks up at me. "There was nothing good about what happened. I agree that job wouldn't have been good, but as for me hitting you with my car?" He shakes his head. "I'll never forgive myself."

  "Corbin, you gotta stop beating yourself up about this." I hold my arms out. "Look at me. I'm all in one piece. Sure I have a few scratches and bruises but all-in-all I'm fine."

  "You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't be in the hospital."

  "True, but I'm considering it like a mini vacation. I get to lay in bed all day, sleep, watch TV." I point to my tray. "I even have people bringing me food."

  "You're taking this really well. Most people would be yelling at me, telling me how stupid I was, how I should've been more careful."

  "I think you've yelled at yourself enough. And besides, what good does it do to get mad at someone about something that can't be changed? It happened. It's over. So stop beating yourself up about it."

  He looks at me, a slight smile on his face. It's good to see that smile again. I haven't seen it for hours. All afternoon he's been quiet, stuck in his own head, probably yelling at himself for what happened.

  "You're amazing," he says.

  I laugh. "You don't even know me."

  "I know enough about you to know you're amazing."

  "What exactly is it you know about me that qualifies as amazing?"

  "The way you're handling this. You're hurt, sick, lost your job, and yet you're still smiling."

  "What else am I going to do? Cry and complain and feel sorry for myself? I've tried that in the past and it doesn't make me feel better. When I moved here I told myself that no matter what happens I'm going to stay positive, or at least try."

  "Yeah, but still. That's hard to do after everything that's happened the past few days."

  He's right. How am I still smiling after all tha
t? I'm stuck in a hospital. I lost my job. My car broke down. My resolve to be positive should've broken down by now. And given what's happened, it would've been justified.

  "I think it's you," I tell him.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I think you're the reason I'm not a total mess right now."

  He scoots his chair closer. "Why?"

  I shrug. "Just having you here. It's been nice to not be all alone. You're kinda serious but when you're not being serious, you're actually kinda funny."

  "Is that so?" His mouth ticks up into that smile I love.

  I point to it. "And that."

  "What?"

  "Your smile. I like it when you smile. You have a good smile. It puts me in a good mood."

  "Really?" He rubs his hand over his scruffy jaw. "I have a good smile?"

  "A great smile. You should smile more."

  "If it makes you feel better then I'll try to smile more." He smiles, which makes me do the same. "Yours is good too."

  "It is?"

  "It's even better than mine."

  "No, it's not." I cover my mouth so he can't see it. I have a crooked smile. Always have. It doesn't bother me but I don't like people staring at it.

  "Stop hiding it," he says, trying to take my hand from my face.

  "Then stop looking at it." I push his hand away.

  "You looked at mine."

  "Because yours is better."

  He sits back and folds his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to show it to you anymore unless you show me yours."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "So are you."

  Watching him trying not to smile is making me laugh. He's attempting to pout his lips, which makes him start to laugh so then he tries to pout again.

  "Stop it," I say, still hiding behind my hand. "Go back to being serious."

  "I AM being serious. See?" He furrows his brow and frowns in an over-the-top way that's even funnier than his pout.

  I burst out laughing, which causes my hand to drop.

  "That's better," he says, smiling at me.

  "I couldn't take it anymore. It's like I said, you can be really funny when you're not being serious."

  "I'm a doctor. Being serious is part of the job. People don't want me laughing when I tell them they're having a heart attack."

  "Yeah, that would be bad," I say, adjusting my pillow so I can sit up more. "So have you ever had to tell a patient really bad news?"

  His smile disappears. "Just the other day, actually."

  "What happened?"

  "A mom came in with her daughter. The little girl had been coughing a lot. Her mom thought it was bronchitis." He stares down at the floor.

  "It wasn't bronchitis, was it?" I ask cautiously.

  "No. I knew as soon as she told me her symptoms. I wasn't positive it was cancer but I was pretty damn sure. I immediately called her pediatrician who scheduled tests to be run the next day."

  "But you didn't know for sure, so you didn't tell the mom, right? Someone else did?"

  "Yes, but she knew before she left my office that day. After I examined her daughter, she took me aside. She could tell something was wrong. Something bad. Apparently I wasn't able to hide it. Either that or it's just a mom's intuition."

  "So what did you tell her?"

  "I told her it was possible. I didn't want to say it but she kept asking, wanting answers." He shakes his head. "That's the part of the job I hate. I went into this to help people but sometimes you just can't."

  "Are you saying the little girl isn't going to be okay?"

  "I don't know. The test results showed the cancer had spread."

  "That's so sad."

  "Unfortunately, that's part of the job. And telling patients is the hardest part. You want to show compassion but at the same time, you can't get emotionally involved. If you do, you wouldn't be able to do the job."

  "You're kind of breaking the rules with me then, aren't you?"

  "Meaning what?"

  "Staying here with me? Worrying about me? You're getting emotionally involved."

  "You're not my patient. And I can't help but be emotionally involved. I'm the reason you're here. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in the hospital."

  "Still, you don't have to stay here. You've been here long enough."

  "Do you want me to go?"

  "It's not that I don't want you here. It's nice having the company, but you've been here for a day and a half. You don't need to stay another night. You need to sleep."

  He points to my tray. "I'll stay with you through dinner and then I'll take off. Sound good?"

  "Yeah," I say, although thinking about him leaving is making me sad. Or maybe it's just the thought of being alone that's making me sad.

  Picking up my fork I stare down at my tray of food, which is now cold. The mashed potatoes stick to my fork like glue and they're starting to look gray like the carrots.

  "I know I said I'm trying to be positive," I say, "but this food—"

  "Is really bad." He gets up and takes the tray from me. "I'll get you something else." He sets the tray down and takes out his phone. "What do you like? Name it and it's yours. I've got the number of just about every takeout place in town. I lived on takeout during my residency. You want pizza? Chinese food? Burger and fries?"

  "Actually, just a sandwich sounds good. Like a good deli sandwich. With chips. And a pickle."

  "A sandwich and chips? That's it?"

  "And a pickle."

  He smiles. "Got it. You're easy to please." He swipes through his phone, then makes a call. "Hey, Tony. It's Corbin." He laughs. "No, I'm not working today but I do need an order. Give me the number five. And add a pickle." He looks at me. "What kind of chips?"

  "Barbecue, if they have those."

  "Barbecue," he says to the guy on the phone. "Can you deliver or do you want me to pick it up?" He nods. "l'll meet him downstairs. Tell him to text me when he's here. Oh, and throw in one of your famous brownies. Actually, throw in two. Thanks, Tony. Tell your wife I said hi." He hangs up and turns back to me. "Should be about ten minutes."

  "Is Tony a friend of yours?"

  "Not really a friend. More of an acquaintance. I got to know him when I was in med school and ordering sandwiches all the time. He and his wife own a deli down the street. His son does the deliveries."

  I look around the room. "Do you know what happened to my stuff? Like my keys and wallet?"

  "They're at the nurses' station. Why? What do you need?"

  "My wallet. I think I have a ten in there."

  "You're not paying. I hit you with my car. The least I can do is buy you a sandwich." He sits down. "So while we're waiting I wanted to ask you something."

  "Go ahead."

  "What's going on with you and your parents?"

  "Nothing. Why?"

  "Why do you refuse to call them? You're in the hospital. You should at least call and let them know."

  "It'd be a waste of time. And I don't want to hear them lecture me."

  "About what?"

  "About how I was stupid for riding my bike in the rain."

  "Just explain that your car broke down."

  "They'd tell me I should've taken the bus. Actually, the conversation wouldn't even make it that far. I'd call, they'd ask what I want, I'd say nothing, and then they'd hang up."

  "So you don't get along with them."

  "It's not that we don't get along. They're just not the type of parents that want to deal with their adult kids. They told my brother and me we're on our own when we turn 18. I didn't make enough money to be on my own so I've been living in their basement, which they were NOT happy about. They were thrilled when I finally got a decent job and moved out but I've only been here a week and already lost my job so calling them will just result in another lecture about how I'm irresponsible and can't take care of myself. Plus, my mom has a new boyfriend and I think they were going to Florida this week, and my dad is working overtime at his job so he's prob
ably not even home."

  "I still think you should tell them. At least call your mom. Moms like to know stuff like this."

  "My mom doesn't want me calling and interrupting her trip to tell her something she doesn't need to be told."

  "Would you just humor me and call her?" He hands me my phone.

  "Fine, but I'm putting it on speaker to prove my point."

  I call my mom. It rings forever before she finally picks up.

  "Star, I can't talk now. Bruce took me to a dance club and it's very loud in here."

  Music is blaring in the background and I hear a woman yell out a drink order, then the sound of glass breaking.

  "Are you in Florida?" I ask.

  "Yes, we got here last night. What do you need?"

  I look at Corbin, who's motioning me to tell her. "I got in an accident."

  "What'd you say? I can't hear you."

  "Can you go somewhere quieter? I need to tell you something."

  "Hold on. I'll go outside." The noise in the background gets even louder before quieting down. "Okay, what is it?"

  "I got hit by a car yesterday. I'm in the hospital."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, other than some stitches and a concussion."

  "Why'd you get hit?"

  I roll my eyes. "It wasn't my fault, Mom. My car didn't work so I had to bike to work and this guy just didn't see me."

  "Were you wearing black? That's probably why he didn't see you. And why were you riding a bike? You should've taken the bus. You wouldn't have been hit on a bus."

  "Yeah, I guess I should have. Well, I just wanted you to know."

  "I gotta get back in there. Bruce will be looking for me. If you need something, call your dad."

  "Yeah. Got it. Bye, Mom."

  I set the phone down. "Told you. It went just like I said. She asked what I want, I told her the news, then she tells me what I did wrong. Do I know my parents or what?"

  "At least she knows now. What about your dad?"

  "My mom will tell him, if she remembers. They're still married by the way."

  "They are? And your mom is dating?"

  "My parents are separated but they don't have enough money for each of them to get their own place so they both still live at the house but stay in different rooms."